The Last
by bittersaccharine
Summary: Houtarou has been in Tokyo for some time now—writing books for a living. He has penned a best-selling series loosely based on his memories. Working on his last instalment, he finds that his books are tying him to the people he wanted to connect to the most, although he may not say this out loud.


**Part I** \- Oreki Houtarou

Sometimes I wonder why I am here. Why I'm standing in the centre of the city. For all you know, I don't like wasting my energy. My reserves are always low so there is always a need to preserve it. But as you can see, that is pretty much impossible in the city, no matter how hard I try. There's always something going on in the city, whether it is the salary men and office ladies rushing to work or some lively festival everyone would flock to celebrate. I find it hard to keep up with it all and yet I am still here. I have been here for years.

The light on the other side turns green of the crosswalk, signalling the cars to a halt and condense masses of people to cross the road. I weaved my way out briskly, minimising contact. I was never really fond of crowds.

Up the street, through an alley, and up another street sat a corner cafe with Western furnishings. As I opened the door, a small bell chimed and the barista flashes a smile. "Welcome back, Oreki," the middle aged barista greets me while polishing the cups. "Care for a cup of black coffee?" I nodded in response. Yes, I'm a regular here. No, I'm not a regular because of the barista or because I'm lonely and he's my only friend. Let's just say it reminded me of home. The lacquered dark wood that brandishes the floor and walls, as well as the clear and coloured glass work that stains the the room beautifully in light as it passes through, brings up memories of the old rustic cafe that was a few blocks from my family home. The coffee here is probably better though.

Just so you know, I'm not here to reminisce. I'm waiting for someone who is apparently running late. I don't know how long I could hold on until my energy completely depletes, so I really hope that person gets here soon. The barista brings me a cup of their finest black coffee. I pull out my notebook and started scribbling down notes while I wait. Might as well maximise my energy consumption if I am to wait for this person (who always likes to keep me waiting, much to my chagrin). I jot down names, places, names of places... oh, there's also the conflict earlier in the volume that needs to be resolved. I better write down a memo for that. And in that moment, the bell rings, which catches my attention and focuses onto the sweaty man at the door of the cafe, dressed in a clean pale blue dress shirt with sleeves folded up to half-length and a black tie. Ah, it's my ever-so-clumsy editor.

He motions his way towards the chair in front of me and apologises for being late. I tell him that I didn't mind (although I really did). "I hear you're about finished with the draft, Tomoaki-sensei?" He pulls up the chair and sits in front of me. Editor-san, whose name I often forget (let's face it, he has an ordinary face and I was never good with names to begin with), orders a cafe au lait from the barista as I pull out an envelope containing the draft of the next installation of my series. He takes the draft out of the envelope and starts to look through the contents before putting it back. Editor-san likes to read through the work thoroughly some time after I give him the draft. I took another sip of my coffee.

Now you may be wondering, why the hell is Oreki Houtarou an author? Good question. I was studying in a private university here in Tokyo, taking up business. I was an average student. My grades weren't that shabby; it falls just around the centre of the bell curve. University was alright but it sure was boring, to say the least. That coming from me is a big statement. One day, I started writing on a whim. Perhaps it's the revival of the Classics club within me, who knows? In another encounter, one of my classmates picked up my writing and read it. He told me to submit it; he knew someone from a publishing house. It was a small publishing house so I didn't expect much. To be honest, I didn't expect to get this far at all. But that small publishing house picked up my story and started to print out 35,000 copies. Through word of mouth, it became popular among readers circles as some lighthearted high school mystery series that follows four teens uncovering mundane mysteries. Then it went on to reprint.

"Everything seems to be in order. Oh by the way, your recently released fourth volume is now on the best-selling charts! Isn't that cool? As expected of Tomoaki-sensei." Editor-san is really chatty today. I'm well aware of my sudden popularity and my desire to keep myself away from that by using a pen name. "Speaking of which, one of the major bookstores is asking about doing a book signing. Of course, I told them I'd ask you first but I'm guessing you don't want to do it." He gives me a reassuring smile. Seeing through people seems to be his only redeeming quality. "Isn't that also the reason why you go by a pen name? To avoid attention?"

"Please decline on my behalf." I told him.

"Understood." He makes a mental note of it. "So, onto another topic... What do you intend to do with this series?"

I give it some thought, "I'm not sure, but I feel like I might end it with the next volume. I have one big mystery for them to resolve before it all ends. To be honest, I feel like this draft is still lacking so I'd like to get your input on it as well."

"So one big mystery to end it all, huh. That's very like you." He shoulders relax and slumps onto the chair, then takes a sip from his coffee.

"Very like me?"

"Yeah," he smiles. "I feel like there's a bit of you in your protagonist, Orimoto Eiji." I shot him a surprised look. He wasn't entirely wrong, as suspected from Editor-san. The source of my inspiration was tapped from my memories of Kamiyama High and the mundane adventures (which I never asked for) with my three friends. In all honesty, I didn't think it would be such a hit with the people. He finishes his cup in the next gulp. "Anyway, I'll read through your draft and get in touch with you soon. I'm looking forward to your work, Tomoaki-sensei." He gets up and looks at his watch. He probably has another client to meet today.

I stare at my cup with only a bit of coffee left. I swirl it around before drinking the last drop. "The last drop of tea is always the most flavourful part." Now who told me this? Tapping my notebook with my pen, I start jotting down scene ideas. I should probably order another cup of coffee.

— o0oOo0o —

Sakurada High School Chronicles Volume 4: The bird sings

Chapter 3: The song I heard at twilight (excerpt)

It's been a week since the spring performance incident. The commotion around school has died down a little, but there is still some ill contempt lingering in the air. Although it's not directed towards me, it was still disconcerting. The atmosphere in class was a little suffocating because of it. Staying here during break will probably kill me. A patch of chestnut coloured hair peeped out of the back door. Hiroshi was gesturing me to come with him outside. Thank heavens for Hiroshi.

"The atmosphere's heavy here too, huh?" He says, on our way to Itou and Senzaki's classroom. Itou popped her head out the door and once she spotted us, her head went back inside briefly and then comes out pulling Senzaki along with her.

"Let's go have lunch in the clubroom, where we could talk in private." Itou tells us. We all agree and head towards the the clubroom. The clubroom is located in the top floor, near the corner of the west wing, right next to the music room. It was far from where most classrooms are located. Senzaki motions us to sit. Although she is our club president, she doesn't have an air of one. Most of the time, Itou arranges the meetings and heads the club (as much as I have seen). Maybe the opportunity for her to show off her leadership skills has not come yet. Senzaki Miyabi is the daughter of a wealthy business man; she moves like a yamato nadeshiko but she isn't exactly one herself.

Senzaki clears her throat. "Back to the matter at hand, it seems that the school has not quite settled down from the glee club incident from last week."

"So it seems." I said.

"Does anybody know how Arakawa-senpai is doing since the incident?" Senzaki's usually bright eyes softened. It seems that she is still saddened by the fact we were not able to solve the mystery in time. She might have been thinking we might have been able to save her by wrapping up the case. However, it did not work that way.

Hiroshi frowned, "There has been no news about her lately. All we know that she's resting at home."

"Does anybody have any other ideas on who could have sabotaged the glee club?" Senzaki asks. In that moment, we hear a girl shriek from the music room next door. We rushed to the music room to find out what it could be. The girl stood there, trembling in horror with sheet music scattered by her feet. Senzaki rushes to her and tries to comfort her. "Are you okay, what is it?"

She points to the black board. Itou moves toward the black board. "Guys, I think you need to see this." We did as she said and found the blackboard covered with musical notes that seem to be painted with blood. Senzaki gasped. "Who would do such a thing?"

Hiroshi approaches the board and swabs a bit of the 'blood' with two fingers. He rubs the substance with his thumb in a circular motion and then sniffs it. "It doesn't seem to be real blood. Perhaps it is fake blood, like the one they use for theatrics?"

"What could this mean though," Senzaki paused. "Do you think it's a melody?"

I took out my phone and started snapping pictures of it, just to have a copy for good measure. I figured they would need to erase it. "It could be. It could also be a code."

"A code?" Itou asks skeptically.

"I'll explain later. Meanwhile, we better ask the music experts what they think of this first."

* * *

A/N: Hi, I'm back for more Hyouka fics (lol)

There was a fic I wrote some time back called "Transit" and I was ehhhh—okay with it, I guess. You don't have to read it or anything but I wasn't exactly satisfied with it and I forgot the story of it so I won't bother updating that one anymore. Here is the (very) abridged version that I like much better, The Last, which follows a post-college/grown-up AU of the classics club. It will come in several parts, which I hope I will continue (and remember) to write. Updates may be irregular so do follow/fave if you like the story. I also hope you like how it is written because I kind of want to portray the story in a similar style of Fangirl by Rainbow Rowell. I thought it might be neat.

Anyway hope to see y'all again soon.

-bittersaccharine


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